07

My face blanches and I quickly twist in my seat to reach for my backpack that’s resting on the floor, rifling through it to find my English textbook. I let out a low curse, pushing my lunch tray to the side while I try to remember the page numbers we were supposed to read, flipping frantically through the text book. How did I forget ?

Finding the pages, I quickly read over the poems while my teammates snicker at my odd urgency to actually do something that was assigned. I read the five poems, one about spring, one about grief, the other about a boat lost out at sea, and then there’s that famous one about taking the road less traveled by, or whatever. But the one that really catches my attention is about a lonely man that stands at his widow every day, watching for a bird—a finch—he recently befriended. Captured by its beauty and melodic voice, every morning he gets up to watch for this bird that sits on the edge of a low hanging tree branch just outside his window, the little, colorful bird’s appearance now the highlight of his day.

Quickly finishing up my lunch, I bid the guys goodbye and begin my stroll to the Language Arts building. It’s a scorcher today, and I’m not looking forward to the hell coach is going to put us through for this evenings practice, making sure we’re ready for our first game tomorrow. But what I am looking forward to is seeing Olivia as I step into the old building, the air conditioning a plus.

Rounding the corner, I immediately spot Olivia through the door frame of our classroom. She’s sitting in the same desk she was on Wednesday, her long caramel hair curtaining the side of her face as she looks down at a worksheet on top of her desk. The eraser at the end of her pencil is pressed to her bottom lip in concentration as her eyes scan the paper before she brings her pencil down to begin writing.

I walk through the doorway of the classroom, claiming the empty seat next to her yet again. « Sup, Finch ? » I ask, shrugging off my backpack.

Her warm honey colored eyes lift to meet mine, her brows slightly pinching together and her head adorably tilting to the side in confusion. She looks over her left shoulder and then her right, trying to decide if I’m talking to her or somebody else. « Are you talking to me ? » she asks, pointing to herself.

« Yeah, you, » I say, trying my best to smother the smile threatening to split my face.

The pinch between her brows smooths over and she sits up straighter in her seat, setting her pencil down, giving me her full attention. « Finch ? » she asks, a small, intrigued smile tugging at her lips.

« Yeah, » I simply reply with a grin, stretching out my legs and leaning back in my seat, making myself more comfortable.

She props her elbow up on her desk, resting her chin in the palm of her hand, looking at me expectantly. « Care to elaborate ? »

My grin only grows. « Well, » I drawl, sitting up a bit, leaning in towards her. « I learned a lot about birds today in my biology class—specifically finches. I learned they’re quiet, melodic chirping little birds. They’re colorful, social, and they rarely migrate from home. I don’t know, » I trail off. « I guess they just made me think of you. »

Her eyes grow soft and one corner of her mouth tips up into a shy smile. She clears her throat, breaking eye contact, and I can detect a small blush creeping up onto her cheeks. « I’m guessing you have Mr. Willford for biology ? » she asks after a beat, recomposing.

« Yeah, how did you—« 

« The man loves birds, » she chuckles, tucking some hair behind her ear. « I had him a year ago, and trust me, this isn’t the last time you’ll hear all about birds. »

« Good to know, » I chuckle. « Come to think of it, the man kind of looks like a bird himself. Have you seen his nose ? »

She brings her hand up to her mouth, trying to mask her laughs. « Stop it, Mr. Willford is a really nice guy. »

« You’re not denying it, » I tease.

She stops laughing, smashing her lips together tightly to try to act serious, but it’s no use. She cracks, falling into another fit of giggles. « Okay, I’ll admit, he does kind of look like Nigel from The Wild Thronberrys. »

« Who ? »

« Nigel… from The Wild Thornberrys. Did you not watch that show growing up ? » she asks.

I shrug. « I guess not. »

Growing up, I had limited access to TV. I had limited access to a lot of things since my mom preferred to blow her money on drugs instead of bills for basic utilities and necessities. Half the time—between living in trashy apartments owned by her druggie boyfriends and me living in foster homes—we squatted in rundown, abandoned houses on the outskirts of town just to have some sort of roof over our heads.

« Oh, well, the guy has a huge nose, » she laughs. « Hey, were you able to get a lab manual for his class ? I heard the bookstore messed up and only had enough in stock for about half the class. Supposedly they ordered more but they’re on back order for, like, three weeks. »

I let out a bitter chuckle. « No, they were already out by the time I picked up my books. Not even my lab partner was able to get one, so I guess we’re screwed for the next couple of weeks. »

Chase just so happens to be my lab partner for Willford’s class, the both of us plotting out our schedules last semester to have as many classes as possible together this semester. He wasn’t able to score a manual either for the class.

« Well if you need one I think I still have mine somewhere. Just let me know and I can find it and lend it to you. Fair warning though, it has some highlighting and writing in the margins. Hopefully you don’t mind. »

« Not at all. » I grin. « Thanks, Finch. »

She blushes. « No problem. »

Professor Hobb walks in, her clogs clacking against the linoleum floor. « Alright, class, » she begins, silencing everyone. « Did we all read those poems that were assigned the other day ? »

Olivia glances at me curiously, teasingly.

I flash her a thumbs up before tapping my temple, signaling to her that I have them memorized, earning me a smile.

« Are you coming to the game this weekend ? » I ask Olivia as we walk out of the Language Arts building, our class over.

She shakes her head. « No. I promised Delilah I’d go shopping with her to pick out a dress for her cousin’s upcoming wedding. »

« Oh, that sounds fun, » I say, trying to hide the disappointment in my tone.

She lets out a huffed laugh. « You’ve clearly never been shopping with Delilah, then. Sometimes, I think I’d rather experience a root canal than spend hours on end trying to help her settle on a dress. Plus, I’ve never actually been to a college football game before. »

I stop in my tracks for dramatic effect. « You’ve never been to a game here ? » I ask, shocked. « Finch, it’s your senior year and you’re telling me you’ve never been to a football game ? Not even during homecoming ? »

She shakes her head, her cheeks tinging pink. « I know nothing about football, why would I go ? »

« Finch, Finch, Finch, » I tsk, shaking my head. « It’s part of the college experience ! That’s it, its official, you’re going to a game this season, even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming. »

She looks at me doubtfully. « I’d have no clue what’s going on. »

I drape my arm over her shoulders. « Finch, what did I tell you the first day we met ? I’ll teach you. If you can ace every science class on this campus, you can pick up football. »

Again, she looks at me with doubt. « We’ll see. »

« Have some faith in me, Finch, » I chuckle, walking her to the parking lot to find Delilah so she can get a ride home.